


RPS

by bloodscout



Series: 18 incredibly impressive ficlets written for the 18th birthday of the frighteningly fabulous fishoutofcustard [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Not RPS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-25 21:55:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/643354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodscout/pseuds/bloodscout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>         RPS</b><br/>Stands for Real People Slash. <br/>A popular although slightly controversial genre of fanfiction involving real life people. RPS stories or fics depict a romantic and/or sexual relationship between two members of the same sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	RPS

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lucie (fishoutofcustard)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Lucie+%28fishoutofcustard%29).



> This is not actually RPS!  
> This is, however, the 7th fic of the 18 fics I wrote for [Lucie's](fishoutofcustard.tumblr.com) 18th birthday, mostly because being shipped by other people is weird.  
> Summary is from urban dictonary

Jackson spilt coke on Stiles’ laptop. _Jackson_ spilt coke on _Stiles’_ laptop. Jackson spilt _coke_ on Stiles’ _laptop_.

He’s going to die. Stiles will _eviscerate_ him.

As such, Stiles is left with a broken laptop, a host of supernatural baddies, and no way to research them. Lest he risk his throat, he calls Derek to pre-warn him of the bad news.

‘Stiles.’ Derek greet, because obviously his mouth can’t form either the words “hello” or “good morning”.

Stiles feels the familiar sarcasm and distaste bleed into his voice, as is usually the case when he talks to Derek. ‘Yeah, hello to you too. Listen, I’m not going to be able to do the research you _so kindly_ asked for, because your beta spilt coke on my laptop.

Derek growls. ‘Scott?’ he demands.

Stiles shakes his head, even though Derek can’t see it. ‘No, the one who is an actual dick. Jackson.’

Stiles thinks Derek might be grinding his teeth in anger, because he doesn’t say anything for a while. Then, ‘Erica and Isaac are here. Use one of theirs.’

He hears a faint ‘Hello Stiles!’ It’s probably Erica.

‘How generous.’ Stiles mutters, and hangs up before Derek can beat him to it.

 

The Hale apartment certainly looks lot more inviting than the sad ruin that was once the Hale house. The inhabitant, however, is just as hostile has he has always been, and there is now the added downside of less space, and a significant decrease in places to hide from said inhabitant. Both Isaac and Erica have now also vacated the residence, so Stiles is stuck with Derek in a small apartment, with only a computer screen to keep him occupied. As such, he opens up Google, sticks his earbuds in his ears a deep as they will go, and refuses to acknowledge anything but pages of results on Vetalas. He gets so wrapped up in the work that he forgets he isn’t on his own computer, and when he dives into the documents folder, instead of finding a series neatly organised folders, he only finds two – _School_ and _Derek/Stiles_. Stiles stares confusedly at the one with his name on it, but figures it’s a message to both him and Derek.

‘Derek,’ Stiles calls, drawing the older man out from the curtains or something. ‘Is this Erica’s computer?’

Suddenly Derek is behind Stiles, and it takes a lot of restraint not to shiver.

‘Yes.’ Derek tells him, and watches as Stiles clicks open the folder.

There are at least 18 files, all with strange titles like ‘First Kiss’ and ‘Barebacking’. Stiles thinks he knows what that means, but he _really_ doesn’t want to dwell on it.

‘Open one.’ Derek orders. He’s probably pisses off that there’s some tiny facet of his beta’s life that he doesn’t know everything about.

The cursor swings in a wild circle as Stiles chooses which document to open. The blinking arrow lands on one titled ‘Cowboys’, and Stiles left-clicks it open. The word document opens up, and the two of them are faced with a page of black and white text.

_Derek was pulling his horse into the stable when Stiles first met him. He was tall, and dark haired, and was sweat-slick and shining. Stiles watched the man’s muscles flex and shift under tanned skin. Stiles watched from the space between rotting boards, panting with aro-_

‘What.’ Derek says, stupefied.

Stiles closes the document, Derek’s voice having broken his horrified stupor. ‘I know,’ he huffs, trying to make a joke of it. ‘you’re not even tanned.’

The computer screen was impassive, throwing the same strange light onto their stunned faces.

Stiles winces, and moves to open another of the documents. Derek doesn’t stop him, and the next one he opens is entitled ‘PWP’.

_It’s amazing how much your other senses are amplified when you’re wearing a blindfold. Stiles can hear Derek breath above him, can smell his skin just inches from his nose, can still taste Derek on his tongue. He is just about to wonder if this is what werewolves feel like all the time when he Derek’s hand drifts down to grip his-_

‘Jesus!’ Stiles shrieks, and slams the laptop closed.

‘What is this.’ Derek demands, like it’s _Stiles’_ fault.

Stiles clears his throat, because he can really only see one solution. It’s unpleasant. He rubs his neck, checking it’s still there. ‘I think… I think Erica’s writing stories about us.’

‘Us.’ Derek repeats, disbelieving.

‘Together.’ Stiles adds, and winces.

Stiles feels Derek move from behind him, and soon the werewolf’s voice is shouting, assumedly on the phone. ‘Erica! Get back to my apartment.’ There is a pause that is probably filled by Erica’s complaints. ‘Stiles has finished with your computer. _All_ of it.’ Derek finishes ominously, and shuts the phone dramatically.

They don’t talk as they wait for Erica to return. There is a lot of furtive staring at the computer, however, which is currently sitting in the middle of the room. They’re avoiding it like a cursed object, like it’s a dangerous article rather than just a few mildly disturbing pieces of fiction.

Erica isn’t cowed when she walks into the room – she flirts with the line between deadly and attractive in the same way she always does.

‘Explain the stories.’ Derek demands when his beta is through the door. ‘About us.’ He clarifies, and the way he wiggles a finger between Stiles and himself would be almost comical if Stiles wasn’t completely mortified at the current point in time.

Erica snorts. ‘The fanfics? You read them?’

Stiles goes to nod, but he thinks Erica’s making and Implication – capitals definitely necessary – so he holds back.

Erica snaps her perpetual gum and grins. Stiles suddenly understand why they call it “wolfish”. ‘Enjoy it? Did it bring some things to light?’

Derek growls, and Stiles can see the way his back is tensed, like he’s just about to tackle Erica to the ground.

‘Erica.’ He warns, and Stiles thinks maybe his eyes flash red, because Erica’s cocky grin slips off her face.

‘Seriously, though,’ she insists. Stiles has to admit, he admires the way she’s soldiering on with this. ‘you two would be making out already if your heads weren’t so far in your asses you didn’t know you wanted to!’

Stiles had to stifle a grin at how convoluted Erica’s sentence was, but when the implication hit him, he suddenly found that it wasn’t that hard to keep a straight face.

‘He doesn’t even like me!’ Stiles exclaims, because it’s true, and Erica is being absurd.

She turns the best impression of Lydia Martin onto him, and pouts. ‘Bet it keeps you up at night, doesn’t it?’

Stiles feels like he’s stepped into an alternate reality. None of this is real. He feels dizzy, and angry, and confused. He needs to go outside.

‘I’m going home.’ he says, and pushes past Erica to get through the door.

‘Stiles.’ Derek says, his voice carrying down the hall.

‘See you, Derek.’ Stiles says, winces at how hurt it sounds.

 

Derek slips into Stiles window when Stiles is still moping into his pillow. He makes a thump when he lands, which is entirely for Stiles’ benefit. It’s the wrong kind of considerate for the situation.

‘Why can’t these fucking werewolves just leave me alone.’ Stiles complains to his pillow.

There is a dip in the bed as Derek sits down. Stiles breathes into his pillow for a few measures, but the tension is unbearable, so he peeks out at Derek’s hulking figure.

‘Go away.’ He says, and it sounds horribly pleading.

Derek takes a deep breath. ‘I don’t hate you.’

‘Yes you do.’ Stiles argues. He knows he’s being sulky, but he’s a teenager, so it’s allowed.

Derek sighs. ‘Erica’s right.’

Stiles shakes his head, and it moves the bed a little. ‘Erica is wrong about everything. Never listen to Erica. She’s a bitch.’

Derek chuckles. ‘Dog jokes?’

Stiles finds himself smiling. ‘I didn’t even notice that one.’ Then, his face snaps back to grumpy. ‘I’m angry at you by the way.’

Derek is smiling a little, but it looks a little sad. ‘I am not as angry at you as often as I should be.’

Stiles rolls his eyes, but it’s pretty ineffective because he only has one eye poking out from the covers. ‘Thanks, Yoda.’

Derek punches Stiles lightly in the arm. ‘Stop that. I… Sometimes I think I’d like to kiss you.’

It’s a strange rush of words, so unlike Derek’s usual speech, and it takes a while for Stiles to understand what Derek is saying. When he does get it, though, Stiles bolts upright. ‘Not funny, Derek.’ He chastises, loud and angry.

Derek holds his arms up, placating. ‘Not lying.’ He says, shaking his head.

Stiles’s expression makes it clear that he’s doubtful.

Derek sighs, put upon. ‘Here.’ He says, and catches Stiles wrist before pressing Stiles’ palm to his chest. ‘Sometimes I think I’d like to kiss you.’

Stiles feels Derek heart underneath his palm, and it’s even as anything. Not lying.

‘So if you’d like…’ Derek suggests.

Running on instinct, Stiles pulls Derek close and kisses his nose.

Derek stares at the younger boy for a moment, stunned, and then he bursts into laughter. It’s bright an clear, and Stiles feels himself smile, all traces of his previous bad move fading away.

‘Apparently Erica missed that out, then.’ Derek jokes, smiling.

Stiles frowns. ‘Never mention Erica’s stories again.’ he whines. ‘I’m so disturbed.’

Derek grins. ‘I think I’ve got better things to do.’ he says, and pulls Stiles in for a proper kiss.


End file.
